A Recovery in Moments
by HermitKnut
Summary: Seventh year is over; Voldemort defeated. But the saviour of the Wizarding World is far from the happily ever after he was promised. A set of short ficlets, R/Hr and H/G. Mini-sequel to All for All, an AU seventh year fic, so it's DH-disregarded. Warning: Character Death.
1. Ron and Hermione

"Hey, Ron! Hermione! Welcome to the party!" Seamus shouted as they hovered in the doorway. Ron grinned as genuinely as possible and Hermione managed a smile. The ground floor of Seamus' house was decorated all over with banners and bunting, mostly in red and gold but also bits of blue and yellow. The front page of the previous week's _The Daily Prophet_ had been enlarged and it hung across most of one wall:

_HE DID IT!_

_CHOSEN ONE DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO!_

The photograph of Harry which had accompanied his fifth-year article in _The Quibbler_ was beside the headline. Hermione could feel Ron tense even more as he spotted it, and she squeezed his arm.

"Come on," she whispered. "For Harry."

They joined the mass of people, mostly schoolmates, all celebrating the end of the war with wild abandon. They chatted and laughed and even danced a bit to the Weird Sisters track on the radio, and if they seemed slightly more subdued than those around them then clearly they were still a little tired from the fighting – or as Ron said, "still trying to get my head around it, mate" – and no one thought any more of it.

It was a good party, Seamus thought through a comforting fuzz of alcohol. And Ron and Hermione were there and they were enjoying themselves. Harry turning up would be amazing, but apparently he was on the run across Europe, leading Death Eaters into Ministry and Order of the Phoenix hands. Ron had dropped Seamus an owl the day before asking him to avoid bringing Harry's situation up with Hermione. _He's having a right old laugh by all accounts, mate, but you know how Hermione fusses. _Seamus had mentioned this to the other guests and tried to make sure that any discussion of the Boy-Who-Lived's current location was quickly diverted; a difficult feat at a party like this, but he seemed to have managed it so far. At least, in Hermione and Ron's earshot, which was the important thing.

"Hey, Seamus!" Dean called. "A toast!"

Seamus and the other guests raised their glasses for about the hundredth time that evening.

"To peace!"

"_To peace!_"

"To victory!"

"_To victory!_"

"To Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world!" As everyone echoed this last one, cheering haphazardly, Seamus thought he spotted Ron pale in the corner and Hermione's eyes well up. _It must be the Firewhisky_, he decided, though he hadn't seen either of them drinking. They'd no reason to be upset, after all.


	2. Ginny

The attic room was the perfect temperature. There were so many spells on it that it couldn't be avoided even this late at night. Ginny was comfortable in her loose summer robes, sitting beside the room's more permanent occupant.

Harry slept as though it was a struggle. Even in the controlled temperature of the room there was a light sweat on his skin; he frowned at whatever he was feverishly dreaming, and every now and then his incomprehensible mumbling would be come a crying out. He turned his head slightly at nothing, the lines in his forehead deepening. Ginny reached out a hand and brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

"You'll need to cut that hair soon, sweetheart," she said softly. Endearments seemed to come easier when he wasn't awake. Harry had been in a coma for a week after the final battle. Although he was no longer comatose now, he was unconscious or sleeping most hours of the day – and when he woke, he was not lucid. He had managed it once, when he'd came down to see what Hermione's scream in the kitchen had been. But it had only lasted a few minutes, and then he was back to his fitful nightmares.

Ginny's eyes were often drawn to Harry's right arm as it lay on top of the blanket. At the moment, it was bandaged, but every few days the dressings had to be changed and then you could see the ugly, welt-like scar that ran across his palm. The veins in that arm were unnaturally dark blue streaks, standing out against the pale flesh. Madam Pomfrey was doing all that she could, but the spell that had rebounded on Harry had been both virtually unknown and extremely powerful; and for the time being, at least, Harry was having to fight it on his own.

Ginny heard the clock downstairs; midnight. She swallowed, and brushed a hand across Harry's cheek.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she murmured to him as he lay there, oblivious. "Eighteen today."


	3. Molly and Arthur

Molly could easily have spelled the dishes to wash themselves, but sometimes her hands needed something more to do while she thought.

The door to the living room was ajar and through it Molly could see Ron and Hermione leaning over books and parchment. She smiled fondly. It was the first day of September and after exchanging letters with Professor McGonagall Ron and Hermione would be working towards taking their N.E.W.T.s just after Christmas. It was good that they were getting their lives back on track – and distracting themselves, at least a little, from Harry's lack of recovery…

Molly sighed. Ginny was supposed to be working with them, but she spent more time upstairs in the attic than anywhere else. Sometimes she took her books up with her, but Molly wasn't fooled.

She glanced up at the family clock just as Arthur's hand swung to 'travelling' and then onto 'home' as he stepped through the floo. She hurried over to take his travelling cloak and welcome him with a kiss. _How long it's been since first we did this…_

"How was work?" she asked him as she pulled out a chair for him. He sighed.

"Long," he said wryly, sitting down. "And not very interesting. Mostly we're chasing parchment at the moment." Arthur hesitated, and then glanced briefly up at the ceiling. "Any change?" he added softly.

Molly shook her head. Arthur looked through to the little bit of the living room and watched Ron and Hermione for a few minutes while Molly put the kettle on.

"No news from Tonks either," he said finally. "But we'd have heard if something had gone wrong."

"I suppose the Ministry's still pushing hard?" Molly asked, and Arthur nodded grimly.

"They want to know where he is – say they're the only ones who can really protect him. Though I agree with Moody – we can't trust any level of the Ministry yet. Thanks, dear." He took his mg of tea from her and sipped before continuing. "Scrimegour is promising a reform, says he's got some way of clearing the Ministry of traitors, but that might just be talk."

Both of them were silent then, drinking their tea, every so often glancing up as though they could see through floors and ceilings to The Boy Who Lived, unconscious in the attic.


	4. Tonks

It was baking hot in the city of Venice. Tonks was incredibly uncomfortable in her t-shirt, jeans and hoodie, but there was no way she could wear anything lighter as she dodged here and there through the crowd. Three men in long black coats were following her. Their muggle guise was their only option in a place this busy, but Tonks knew who they were. Goyle. Macnair. Rodolphus Lestrange. They'd know that these three Death Eaters had been following them for quite a while – well, following Harry.

That was why Tonks couldn't take off the bulky hoodie which allowed her to hide much of her face. Harry wouldn't have been able to. And for today, as for every day in the last few weeks, Tonks _was_ Harry.

She'd turned her hair black and messy and her eyes green, and with the right props (glasses and an illusionary scar) she could be mistaken for him at a distance, or in a fight. She couldn't alter her height or her frame though, so she had to dress carefully to disguise her un-Harry-like curves.

Tonks veered left through a crowd of American tourists and then turned a sharp right to slip down an alley. She was supposed to be leading them into an Order of the Phoenix trap, not losing them, but when she glanced around she realised she had done just that.

Leaning against the wall to catch her breath, she pulled out a mirror and checked her appearance. Still as close to Harry as possible. Good. Kingsley had suggested that whoever was to impersonate Harry should use Polyjuice – but the Death Eaters were wary enough as it was without 'Harry Potter' knocking back something suspiciously familiar every hour.

The Death Eaters still hadn't caught up. _Damn it. _Tonks swore under her breath, and decided to carry on again down the alley. She'd find them again, no doubt, it would just take –

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"


	5. Fred and George

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was buzzing. Diagon Alley had be gradually getting back to normal for the past six weeks, and people were in a celebratory mood. There was a crowd four deep around the fireworks.

Fred was demonstrating a new kind of trick wand to a particularly excited group of twelve-year-olds when Verity tapped him on the shoulder.

"Mr Weasley? Mr Weasley wants you in the back."

Fred nodded, and let Verity take over with the customers before heading to the door behind the counter. He sometimes wondered if Verity just used "Mr Weasley" so much (after being persistently told she could use their first names) because she thought it sounded funny… well, it did… but if that was the reason, she kept and impressively straight face.

He was brought abruptly away from his musings on their employee when he walked into the back room to see George looking very pale.

"What's happened?" he asked as the door swung shut behind him, cutting the noise of the excited crowd off completely.

"Moody's dead," his twin said blankly. Fred sank into the nearest chair, stunned. It took him a few moments to find his voice.

"What happened?" he eventually said again, falling back on repetition.

George explained without any tears or anger, and Fred knew that the reality of what they were discussing still hadn't sunk in. The small group of Order members leading the Death Eaters safely away from the real Harry had been ambushed. Kingsley, Tonks and Dedalus had captured the Death Eaters, but only after Moody had been killed. He had stepped in front of Tonks and taken the killing curse for her.

"Kingsley said that Tonks is a mess," George finished quietly. "She's going to stick with them to keep the Death Eaters busy, but after that she might not go back to the Aurors."

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Fred pushed himself to his feet and went over to the cupboard. He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of wine, and poured a small amount for each of them.

"Only a little bit during opening hours," he said, and George nodded as he took his.

"To Mad-Eye," Fred said and drank; George followed suit.

Another pause, and then George took a deep breath and put on his best grin.

"Come on, brother dear," he said lightly, though his voice had a more serious edge to it than usual. "Our audience awaits."

And the two of them headed back out to the bustling crowd.


	6. Percy

"Minister, I assure you, there is no need to interfere. Potter's safety is undeniable; and, if you'll forgive me, your appearance would do nothing but harm."

Percy Weasley rubbed the tip of one finger between the index and thumb of his other hand as he spoke, a nervous habit he had developed since leaving Hogwarts. Scrimgeour sighed.

"I know the lad can have no fondness for me, but – " he threw his hands in the air and then reached for a ream of parchment, shaking his head. "I'll write to him, instead, then. On another matter, have you heard back from the Chinese Minister about that incident with the Fireballs?"

Percy nodded and presented the aforementioned Minister's response among other paperwork, explaining swiftly all the matters that needed to be brought to Scrimgeour's attention and then noting his response on a sheet of parchment marked with the date: November 1st. This was a habit that did not require too much concentration, so it was easy for a part of his mind to be wondering how things were going at The Burrow in that quiet attic room…

"…and going back to Potter, Weasley, inform Liana that I intend to award him an Order of Merlin. First Class. Seeing as Potter is unavailable at the moment, we'll set the ceremony for May 1st next spring. Nice and symbolic, a year to the day." Scrimgeour sighed again as Percy made a note regarding the award.

"Weasley, it's past six o'clock. We should both be heading home."

It was another half an hour – why were there always a few more things to finish at the end of the day? – before Percy arrived in the kitchen at The Burrow to find Bill and Charlie sitting alone.

"Hey Perce," Charlie said quietly. "How was work?"

Percy sat down next to them.

"Busy and frustrating," he answered honestly. "How's Harry?"

Charlie smiled, though he looked tired.

"He's awake."


	7. Remus and Sirius

"Hello, Ron. Bill said you wanted a word?"

"Professor Lupin!"

Lupin shook his head, smiling faintly. "Remus will do, Ron, I haven't taught you for years. Now what's this about?"

As Remus joined Ron on the stone wall that formed one edge of The Burrow's garden, the redhead talked as though he hadn't for weeks. It was really too cold to sit for long, though, so it was only a few minutes before they both stood and headed back inside.

"I'll see what I can do," Remus said quietly to Ron as they entered the kitchen, "but I can't promise anything."

Avoiding the hubbub of Order members and Weasley family thronging the ground floor, Remus made his way to the staircase. He climbed slowly to the top floor, pausing every now and then to catch his breath. Full moon had only been a few days ago, and every month it seemed to take him longer to recover.

When he reached the door which still bore the words 'Ronald's Room' on it in peeling paint, he knocked gently. There was no response. He opened the door and entered quietly.

"Hello, Harry."

The room was dim, with only one small candle lit on the bedside table, but Remus saw Harry's head turn at his voice.

"Remus?" the younger man said softly. He sounded surprised. Remus walked the few steps across the small attic room and sat down in the chair by the bed.

"Yes, it's me," he said. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you before. The Order's been so busy… but it's quieter now. The Auror department has finally pulled itself together, which means we've got a lot less to do."

"That's good," Harry replied. He was lying on his side, facing away from Remus, and his voice was disturbingly fragile. Remus considered him.

"Harry, can you turn over?" he asked. There was a long pause, and then the younger man began to turn over. His movements were jerky and uncomfortable; Remus winced in sympathy and almost told him to stop, but he held himself back. It was better that Harry moved.

Now that Remus could see Harry's face, he could see how pale and exhausted he looked.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. Just tired." A blatant lie which Remus recognised immediately. How could he not? Hadn't he, every month at Hogwarts, said the same thing to James and Sirius? He leant back, his hands on the arms of the chair, and waited for Harry to meet his eyes. When he didn't, he decided to try another approach.

"I was glad to hear you came downstairs on Christmas day," he said. "Everyone was very pleased to see you." This got a reaction; the younger man looked guilty. But he didn't say anything. Remus continued.

"Madam Pomfrey seems to think you're improving. This new year, when it starts in," he consulted his watch, "about three hours, should see you up and about and back to normal, which is good." Harry still wouldn't meet Remus's eyes, but he paled slightly. Remus sighed.

"Harry, you're not in trouble," he said, leaning forward. "But you've barely left this room since you woke up, and that was almost two months ago. If there's something wrong, you need to talk to someone. We all just want you to be alright –"

"And I'm trying to be, okay?" Harry said abruptly, looking at Remus and then away again. "I'm really trying, I'm sorry." His words weren't angry or sarcastic; they were serious, and Remus frowned.

"Harry…" he stopped, and tried to work out what to say next. He thought back to those days he had spent, lying in the hospital wing, James and Sirius beside him. James, with his all but flawless home life and whose greatest problem consisted of being turned down by Lily Evans, had never known what to say. But Sirius had.

"Harry, look at me," he said firmly. Warily, the teen met his eyes. Remus gave him a faint smile, and picked his words carefully.

"Harry, if you want to, you can stay in here forever," he said. "The Weasleys would be content to look after you, and if they weren't, I would be. You don't have to do anything, not if you don't want to. You could spend the rest of your life shutting the world out, and you wouldn't lose a single friend."

Harry looked uncertain at the sincerity in Remus's voice. The older man continued.

"It's important that you understand the position you're in, Harry," he said quietly. "You don't have to do anything. You can choose whatever you want to. All I and the Weasleys and Hermione want is for you to feel happy, and safe."

He let this sink in.

"But," Harry said eventually, "everyone would be…" he trailed off.

"Disappointed?" Remus finished for him, and Harry nodded. Remus shrugged. "Not in you. In the war and the things that happened, maybe. But it wouldn't change how they feel about you."

Harry frowned.

"You can do anything you want to do, Harry," Remus said. "Think about it. What do you want? Honestly?"

There was a long pause. Remus could here people laughing and talking downstairs, and remembered Sirius talking earnestly to him in the hospital wing.

_What do you want, Mooney?_

"I knew I was going to die."

Harry's words were hesitant. Remus didn't interrupt him, just met his eyes and waited for him to continue.

"I knew it, all that year. I didn't just think it was going to happen. I was so sure. And I didn't want – I've never wanted, I don't want to die. I just _knew_ it was going to happen and I… sort of… accepted it." Harry sounded shaken as he spoke, as though the true meaning of his thoughts hadn't been clear to him until he had spoken aloud. "I stopped thinking about what could happen afterwards, because thinking about getting old and doing things; it hurt." He swallowed.

"There was the fight, and I knew it would be the end of it," he continued, almost in a whisper. "I remember going down and knowing we'd won, and then – and then –"

"And then you woke up." Remus felt a familiar ache of sadness in his chest. The boy in front of him was eighteen, and he'd already been through so much. Too much. _Lily, James, I am so sorry. I should have done more. _

Harry nodded slightly.

"Everything was so hard, but it was sort of okay because I knew it wouldn't last. Now everything… I know it's stupid," he said, sounding frustrated with himself, "I know, but I thought if I did make it, everything would be better. But it's just as hard –"

He stopped and closed his mouth tightly. Remus moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and helped Harry to sit up a better, before pulling him into a hug.

"I know, lad," he said quietly. "I know it's hard. And everyone expects you to be happy because it's over, and you won, but all you can think of is what you lost."

The months after James and Lily had died had been the hardest Remus had ever known. The wizarding world was celebrating, and suspicious of anyone who wasn't; Remus had lost his four closest friends in less than four days.

"I want to be okay," murmured Harry into his shoulder, "I just don't know how. And I'm tired of fighting."

Remus pulled back a little, and managed a real smile this time.

"You will be," he said. "Remember – you've got all the time in the world. And we're all behind you."

They sat together for sometime; and at midnight they watched the fireworks from the attic window.


	8. Harry

The war had left a lot of scars.

Harry, sitting on the windowsill and looking out at the warm evening, was tired. But he was better than he had been.

It had been a very long year. The rebounding curse had kept him in bed, wavering between fever and chill, well into October. After that, well… Madam Pomfrey had said that he ought to start feeling better. But he hadn't.

Physically he had been able to get up and about, but instead he had spent long days upon days still in bed, dozing fitfully or lying with his eyes half open counting the threads in the rug or the marks on the ceiling.

But that had been last year.

Now, today, was the last day of April. Tomorrow, the wizarding world would be celebrating the events of that time last year – the defeat of Lord Voldemort. There was to be a speech or four; the unveiling of a memorial in honour of those who had died; and Harry James Potter, Boy Who Lived and Chosen One, was to be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class.

Well. If he chose to turn up, which was unlikely.

Harry allowed himself a small smile at the thought of Scrimgeour's face when his poster boy was nowhere to be seen.

_What do you want?_

Remus had really woken him up on New Year's Eve. It hadn't changed anything drastically or immediately, but Harry had slowly begun to talk to Ron and Hermione and Ginny more. He found that it wasn't as hard to go back to normal things as he had thought. After a month or so, Bill had offered to take him into Gringotts to look over his finances. Since he'd come of age, he had much more access to them than before. The foundations of his parents' wealth – properties owned by the Potter family line – were now his responsibility. Perhaps it wouldn't sound very interesting to some people, but Harry felt as though he could do without 'interesting' for a fair while. And watching Ron apply for Auror Academy and Hermione try for a place at the International Union of Spellcrafters would be enough to be going on with.

And then, there was the other thing.

The new thing.

Or not so new, actually, because when Harry looked back through the last few years it was amazing what he'd missed when he'd been so busy fighting for his life. But now he noticed it.

Sitting on the windowsill of the attic room that was still, technically, Ron's, Harry looked at his hands. They looked perfectly ordinary as they always had, long-fingered and as pale as the rest of him, the only recent difference being the dark curse scar that ran across the palm of the right in the shape of a wand handle. He stared at them as he'd done so often in the last few months, turning them this way and that as though searching for something unfamiliar. Then, after a quick glance around to check there was no one watching, he snapped his fingers.

He wasn't sure that the snapping was entirely necessary, but he stuck to it because something inside of him worried that if he started doing the thing without the snapping, then what if it started happening when he didn't want it to? The words of his old headmaster came to mind. _"It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."_ Harry remembered not finding this particularly helpful at the time, but now… this new talent, if you could call it that, was the unknown, and its potential for damage scared him. What it could do. What it could mean. And yet on the other hand there was something oddly familiar and comforting about it, like it had been around his whole life and only just now decided to show its face.

Harry watched the little flame he had conjured without wand or spell dance across his fingertips. It didn't burn. He snapped his fingers again and it went out.

_Well, _he thought, _here's to a new life. _

The sequel to this story (and the full-length sequel to All for All) is finally being posted! Please see my profile for more details.

Thank you all for your support, I appreciate every favourite, follow, and review!

HK


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